


Finding Felicity

by ljlewis



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:45:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljlewis/pseuds/ljlewis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post season 2 finale. Felicity is tired of being Oliver Queen's collateral damage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Felicity

**Author's Note:**

> The discovery of this series, a love for Felicity, and the Emma Approved videos prompted me to write this. I'm not even totally on board with this ship...and yet I so am.

She was going to end this. Now.

Nearly two years. Nearly two years of working overtime, turning a blind eye, and following some self-obsessed vigilante around through every hare-brained scheme and threat like a long-lost puppy.

It was pathetic.

No more so than when he gazed longingly into her eyes and professed his love for her. And she believed him. She had believed him.

She graduated from MIT damn it. She was well versed in unraveling mysteries, solving puzzles, assessing vulnerabilities of systems, and all forms of infiltration. She had been offered a prestigious position in the university's doctoral computer security department and was considering dropping this entry-level IT gig for a return to Boston when he had waltzed into her life. Oliver Queen. Now, two years later, and it took the blindingly embarrassing instance of a fake love proclamation to finally open her eyes to the obvious.

She was totally and completely pathetic.

Mr. Queen may have faced his maker on that island, but Felicity had been surviving her own unfeasible, lonely battle her entire life. She depended only upon herself for safety, security, smarts, and survival. She knew no other reality. Now, she had slipped comfortably into the role of damsel in distress and faux-secretary to some man’s secret superhero billionaire CEO. This would have repulsed the Felicity from two years ago. That girl would have claimed the CEO position for herself or settled for nothing less than full partner.

She missed that girl.

Instead, this girl had fallen headlong into some inane fantasy of the unlikely romance between a nerdy, underprivileged woman from the wrong side of town and the reformed, handsome playboy. Late at work, she may slip off her glasses and let down her hair, and he would catch one fateful sight of her and fall irresistibly and irreversibly in love. Blegh, gag, vomit. How had she let herself get this far-gone?

Gingerly, she picked herself up off the floor of her dingy, tiny bathroom. Sirens wailed through the miniscule window over her shoulder as her shadowy reflection stared back at her. She removed her previously coiffed ponytail and shook out her hair, staring at the caked blood around her nose and temple. She smiled. The imperfections gave her appearance a welcome grit. She felt more real than she had in months.

Yes, this time in the Arrow lair had been an experiment in the meaning of justice, vengeance, and the law. She still felt a moral obligation for the work she made possible with The Hood. However, she knew, there were others who could easily fill her position no matter what he spouted about “partners”. Others who hopefully would be less stupid and naïve than her.

Felicity wound her hair up haphazardly in a bun as the sun rose. It was time for a change.

*->*

Two weeks later and she sat in an opulent café in the center of Starling City with a hot tea clutched to her chest.

“Does this have anything to do with what I said?”

“It has a lot to do with that, actually.” Her voice was cold.

He nodded. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.” Blood rushed to her cheeks. “I’m not in love with you, Oliver. I’m not in love with anybody. In fact, I don’t think I’ve experienced love in a very long time. I am, however, hurt. I am incredibly intelligent in my own right. I’ve been insanely successful despite many personal obstacles. I have bent over backwards for you these past two years, and all I’ve gotten in return is used.” She took a deep breath, and his look hardened. “I never knew the Oliver Queen from before, but I’m not OK with how you treat me now." She felt an odd sense of calm. It was the longest she’d gone speaking to him without putting her foot in her mouth.

He was quiet for a very long time.

She liked to think he was speechless. She cleared her throat. “I’ve been offered a position in the Starling City University PhD program for computer security, and I’ve accepted.”

His eyes flickered. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed other words along with a mouthful of hot tea.

*->*

Work at the university was hard and satisfying. She found the campus gym and started attending regularly. Maybe in three years she may actually complete a pull up without assistance. This thought was somewhat encouraging. At the very least, it felt good to challenge her body as well as her mind. Plus, a gal never knew when a crazed villain may escape from his island prison and attack. One had to be prepared.

She met new men now, men whom she involuntarily assaulted with her infamous, unfiltered babble. They laughed, but it was never quite as thrilling. Maybe it was because it seemed polite. Maybe it was because none were ever as serious to begin with. She’d always been a sucker for a challenge.

She had a staggering amount in common with one of the other students in her small cohort. Both had grown up in Las Vegas, both had absent parents, and both were totally obsessed with Game of Thrones. He even had a pretty defined chest and loved The Hood. Yet, this new, human development never pushed her quite the same way.

Laurel Lance started hanging around, something about law tutoring for students. They ran into each other on campus, in cafes, and in the library. Eventually, they met on purpose for coffee, drinks, and even lunch. It became kind of a thing.

Sometimes, Laurel would even report on Oliver.

“He’s been very reserved.” She frowned. “I hardly see him. Diggle seems worried.”

“Hmmm.” Felicity would sigh and barely have to feign nonchalance. “I’m sure he’s just busy. Always playing the hero these days.” She couldn’t resist.

“Yeah.” Laurel nodded and ran a hand through her perfect hair, which accentuated a defined bicep. Wow, Felicity really needed to inquire about Laurel’s training routine.

*->*

The next summer, one year later, she wandered out of the S.C.U. library at sunset. It was hard to believe that her first year was already over. Last night, Ross had said his goodbyes before his return home to Las Vegas for the season, and Felicity spent today editing her last academic journal. She smiled and enjoyed the odd sense of peace in the middle of the city. She waited at a corner for the bus and studied her reflection in the glass shelter. Gone were the tight, styled ponytails and form fitting dresses. In their place were the loose, air-dried waves of a student, cargo jacket, and simple white dress. Her smile grew. She liked this girl. She recognized this girl.

The bus arrived, and she stepped on. A sudden flash of movement on a nearby building caught her attention and sent her pulse pounding. It was astonishing how quickly the mind reverted to its old habits. A strange shadow, a silhouette on a rooftop, a hulking man in a hoodie, and her brain reeled. She still remembered the night with the caked blood and confessions. She still remembered all of it. She remembered it all of the time.

There was nothing there now. It must have been a trick of the light.

*->*

In the fall, Barry popped back into her life along with coursework and research. He was currently sprawled across her workstation, doing his best to impede all further progress on her project.

“I saw Oliver the other day.” He laughed, and his eyes danced.

She rolled her own.

“He asked me about you.”

“Oh?” There was an uncomfortable strain in her chest. “How did you run into each other?”

“It was purposeful.” Barry shrugged. “A meeting to discuss vigilantism, crime fighting…you know.” He laughed. “The usual.”

She snorted. Oddly, she had no idea what to say.

“Yeah.” His look turned uncomfortable. “He asked me to pass this along.” Slowly, he revealed a small envelope from his coat pocket.

She felt as eager to handle it as a live snake. “Thanks,” she forced out. She placed it on the far edge of her desk. Once Barry had departed, she stared at the offending paper for a long time. Over an hour.

The laboratory smoke detectors weren’t sensitive enough to register the small fire in her trashcan.

*->*

Later, two weeks after the letter, she went to Verdant with some other students. She wore a sinful dress and far too much makeup. She drank enough to regret it and danced until she could no longer stand.

The next day, she felt a sick pride when Ross only once inquired if she’d been looking for someone.

*->*

Apparently eighteen months and four days was the time limit for estrangement. Not that she was counting or anything.

Oliver Queen stood outside the peephole of her new apartment in a suit and a tailored black wool jacket. She snorted; of course he knew where she lived. He was in full playboy regalia and snow peppered his short hair. “Felicity.” He stared through the door as if he could see her.

She shivered from more than just the outside chill.

“Please let me in.”

The figurative implications of that request were mind-boggling. Her hand rested on the doorknob uncertainly. He was so close to her. She could practically feel his heat radiating through the wood. His eyes were still the shade of blue so fit for obliterating all of her inhibition. She sighed. She opened the door. She leaned against the frame and crossed her arms. Her one act of rebellion was a refusal to allow him another inch further into her space.

He eyed her flannel pants and grey tank top. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.” Just like that. As if they finished the almost two-year-old conversation only moments ago.

She didn’t deign to give him a response.

He fixed her with the look that saw straight through her. “I stayed away because you wanted me to stay away.”

She snorted.

“I never wanted to say goodbye. I never wanted to lose you.” She gave him a look and pushed her glasses up her nose.

“You never read the letter.”

She was livid. “You didn’t lose me,” she hissed. “I’ve been here this whole time. I’ve been totally reachable.”

He had the decency to flush.

She bit her lip as her angry, harried heartbeat drowned out her thoughts.

Suddenly, he drew back and morphed into the vigilante before her eyes. “Bullshit,” his voice rose deeply.

She froze. He almost never lost his temper, and he never used that tone with her. She pulled him into her apartment and shut the door behind him, but he seemed too upset to notice.

“You’re a fucking enigma wrapped inside an unsolvable mystery Felicity Smoak!”

He had her full attention now. Her eyes bored into his.

“You’re dangerous.” His eyes were so bitingly blue.

She laughed and retreated into her kitchen. “I’m dangerous?! I’m not the one with the deadly crossbow skills-”

“You’re like a backwards black hole-”

She halted mid-comeback. Because what the hell was that? Wasn’t she the one who was supposed to make no sense?

He looked awkward and uncomfortable. It was so delightfully out of character that she almost smiled. “I mean-” He sighed. “Instead of sucking all of the light from the universe, you emit it. You brighten everything around you.”

“I’m a backwards black hole?” She sounded incredulous.

He looked straight through her defenses again. “You bring out the light in me.”

She lost her breath. It felt like drowning but in a good way. “Oh.”

“Before The Hood, I smiled. I joked. Afterwards, everything was dark and serious.” He shook his head, and a smile tugged at his lips. “You remind me how to laugh.”

She rolled her eyes. “Because I constantly make a fool of myself?”

“No.” He was firm, and her gaze met his once again.

If she was the opposite of a black hole, then Oliver was the sun. She had almost forgotten how insanely good looking he was. God, he practically rippled beneath his clothes. Though she had mentally and emotionally divorced Oliver years ago, her body was a different story. She was a tense ball of hormones around him. “My body never said goodbye to you.”

His smile grew. His eyes twinkled.

“I mean-” She ran her hands over her face and hated how easily she reverted to their old back-and-forth. This man had done her wrong. She needed to feel angry! He had so many things to answer for. She shook her head, and her ponytail swayed from side-to-side. “I mean I’m stronger than my body." She squared her shoulders. "I felt,” she faltered, “I felt weak before.”

His smile disappeared. He was quiet for a long time.

Somehow, she choked down the multitude of embarrassing exclamations zipping around her brain in the interim.

“Will you answer one question?”

She inhaled sharply. “…Yes.”

His eyes shone in the moonlight from her kitchen window. They didn't stray from hers for a second. “Do you miss me?”

Silence enveloped them for several long moments.

“Yes.” She breathed.

His eyes burned. He emitted a determined energy and broke through the invisible barrier between them. “Felicity.”

"And no."

His hand stopped inches from her bare arm.

Her name on his lips did things to her insides, and she bit down hard on her lip. "Oliver, I'm really happy now." She motioned around her. "I have this great new apartment, I love my work at the university, I..." She wrapped her arms around herself once again, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I do miss you..." She shrugged. "But I don't miss you waltzing in like you haven't just disappeared for two years and-"

"I know." He ran a hand through his cropped hair and undid the two top buttons on his coat with an uncharacteristic difficulty. "I know. I want to show you that I understand."

"Honestly," she said, "I have no idea what you want."

“I want to see you. I want to see you everyday but not like before. Not like before at all-”

"Stop speaking in riddles!" her voice rose, and she stepped away from him in surprise. "I mean-" She pressed a hand to her forehead. She furrowed her brow. She sighed. "Speak in plain English, Oliver."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Her eyebrows nearly met her hairline.

He quirked a brow. "Okay, Felicity."

“Ohhh-kay,” her own voice shook, and she pressed defensively against her kitchen cabinets. He stepped forward. Her face heated instantaneously, and colour crept up her neck. She brandished a sharp finger between them. "Let's establish something immediately."

"Let's." He took another step.

"I think you are attractive, and we both know that my brain has difficulty functioning when you're around, but that doesn't mean I have unrequited feelings for you."

He smiled in the way that accentuated his dimples.

"And my brain at diminished capacity is still pretty damn impressive." She glared at him, and he stopped in his tracks. "I don't want to date you, and I don't want our relationship to exist in some strange, pseudo-flirty, poor-techy-girl-has-a-crush-on-her-billionaire-vigilante-coworker place anymore."

He nodded. His dimples taunted her. "Fine." He opened his arms without denial. "That sounds fine. I don't want there to be any confusion either. I don't want to be that guy-"

"I know that you're incredibly rich, ridiculously brave," she surged on, lips and tongue possessed, "and undeniably attractive, but that doesn't mean someone like me will just automatically fall at your feet-"

"I know. I never-"

"I'm not exactly chopped liver, you know." She set her jaw and peered at him over the top of her glasses. "I was top of my class at MIT! I have fantastic style and a damn good sense of humor."

He laughed. "My, my but you've definitely located a spare bit of ego since our last encounter."

She smacked his absurdly toned arm. "You better get used to it-"

Suddenly, he embraced her. "Oomph!" Her voice muffled against the press of black wool. She felt apoplectic with shock. He held her tight in his arms. “I missed you so much,” he whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"Okay." Her body was rigid.

"I want to be friends: no tricks, no lies, no expectations. I want you to continue being happy in your great new apartment and working at the university."

She inhaled and tried to settle into the strong arms wrapped around her. They'd done this so many times before. It should be familiar.

He shifted, and she slipped further into the fit of his chest and taut stomach just like she remembered. He was a great hugger. Like all the other times, she tried not to think too much about the sheer amount of masculinity snug around her. His chest expanded and deflated beneath her cheek, and his pulse beat a soothing rhythm against her ear.

It took a while, but she relaxed against him. She took in his familiar smell. She melted into his warm, solid body. Years later and it still felt comforting. Despite whatever disagreement or hurt feelings lie between them. Despite everything that she still remembered. "I guess everyone needs a backwards black hole by his or her side."

His chest rumbled with laughter and tickled against her skin.

She pulled back and narrowed her eyes. "Just promise to never confess your fake love for me again."

He seemed to flush before fixing her with his mesmerizing stare. "I promise."

Her stomach dropped to her feet, and she gulped. "Great." This was just great.

*->*

Apparently, vigilantism was contagious.

“I need someone well-versed in computers.” The following day, Laurel sat across from her with an earnest expression and broke Felicity's reverie. Laurel's words computed, and Felicity wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Did she unconsciously attract these people?

Instead she said told Laurel she'd do it and pulled back in surprise. Apparently, some part of her desired to return to this line of work. Interesting. At least working for a woman felt a far wiser decision than others from a previous life. Less conflict of interest.

“Seriously?” Laurel had been expecting a battle.

“Seriously.” Felicity smiled. Now, she had her best friend back and a new job.

*->*

However, Oliver didn’t really need to know.

He smiled at her over a large mug of coffee. He sank into the plush couch in her apartment. They were really going through with this. They were being friends.

“I can’t return to Team Arrow.” She shook her head as she voiced unspoken words and stirred her own coffee absently. His presence still felt so surreal. She'd had this conversation so many times before with her bathroom mirror.

“I know.” Oliver nodded, and their eyes met. He looked at her as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, echoing her feelings completely. “It's for the best." He clapped his hands together and looked at her expectantly. "But I want to hear all about your program. I’m sure you’ve managed to hack into the IMF and singlehandedly dismantle terrorist plots.”

She guffawed. “You give me far too much credit.”

“Not nearly enough.” His eyes clouded. She noticed that they were still feet apart. As if afraid to get any closer.

Things were different now. The territory was suddenly riddled with emotional landmines and stuttering moments of re-acquaintance. And yet, she smiled. It felt wonderful to not be the only one out of her depth. For once, she felt in control. She was his equal now in every sense of the word. “Oliver.”

He looked up with eyes full of warmth.

“Promise me that you will stop apologizing. You're forgiven; it's water under the bridge.”

He smirked. “Felicity.”

She beamed in response.

“I can’t do that.”

*->*

Ok, she admitted it. Felicity missed working for Team Arrow.

Six months since Oliver's return and she was nearly finished her program, but her work with Laurel had grown so intensely demanding and frustrating that it drove her mad. Oliver had been prone to his fits of silent brooding at the office, but Laurel could fly off the handle at a moment’s notice. Laurel was a helpful friend during Oliver’s absence, but she was a workaholic. Of the worst variety.

Oliver liked to remind her of this fact on a daily basis. “Felicity,” he quipped, currently striding towards her with her favorite cup of coffee in tow.

She smiled as he set down the large mug on their table in a cozy campus café. “I really shouldn’t.” She hesitated and quickly worked out the disgusting amounts of caffeine she’d consumed in the past months. “And yet…” She shrugged and moaned as she took her first sip.

His phone buzzed. Not an uncommon occurrence. “Hmmm,” he rumbled with a furrowed brow as he observed the screen.

Her fingers itched to swipe the device away and get her eyes on the mission. She missed her old desk. She missed the ridiculous green lighting and the pounding club beats overhead. She’d been obsessively scouring the police scanner for Hood news for weeks. She wanted her old team back. “Oh, what is it already?!” She cried, nearly upending her mug.

He quirked a brow and locked the screen. “Problem, Ms. Smoak?”

“That’s Dr. Smoak since I passed my dissertation review.” She huffed. “Now, let me see the phone.”

His eyes flashed. A challenge. “No.”

“Oliver,” she warned.

“You don’t work for me anymore.” He stared at her knowingly.

“I don’t care-”

“When you worked for me,” he continued firmly, “you were unhappy. I wasn’t fair to you.” His look softened, and his eyes turned that striking blue.

She took a breath and set her jaw. “Fine. Just answer one question.”

He paused, then his eyes shone with mischief. “Okay.”

“Do you miss me?”

His smile grew, and his eyes crinkled around the edges. “Every day.”

*->*

In the end, Laurel wasn’t all that upset about her resignation. Felicity beamed as her fingers flew over the keys, and she called instructions over her earpiece. Excitement and adrenaline coursed through her like a drug. God, she had missed this. “Mr. Simon should be exiting through the kitchens any second now.” Heat curled in her belly as she followed the tracking software on her screens.

Oliver’s steady breath reverberated in her ears.

“Here he comes.”

“Got him.”

She sat back with satisfaction as the vigilante did his job.

Later, Oliver returned with a spring in his step. Or as close to it as he could come.

Diggle shot him a sidelong look.

Oliver set down his bow. “The band’s back together, John.”

Diggle just shook his head and laughed, and Felicity joined in. She caught Oliver's eye as her laugh relaxed into a languid smile. He couldn't hide the upturn of his own mouth, and smiled back at her.

Neither of them noticed Diggle slip away to call his girlfriend.

*->*

Ray Palmer burst into her life like an unexpected tornado.

“Dr. Smoak.” His dark eyes pinned her to her chair from the moment they caught sight of her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure is-” She inhaled. “Yes, so just-”

His mouth quirked upwards.

“Such a pleasure.” She shook his hand vigorously. Curse it. Her and her nonfunctioning mouth.

He was a fellow business tycoon in town to research real estate. Ray was looking to begin construction on a nuclear fusion lab and thought Starling City would be the perfect market.

Felicity couldn’t help but feel impressed. It wasn’t every day a gal met a nuclear physicist and an attractive one at that! It wasn’t long before Ray began inquiring about her weekend plans and then inserting himself into them. She didn’t mind. Ross had disappeared months ago, and she’d felt an undeniable attraction to Ray immediately. Things had been wonderful at work, she'd completed her doctorate at the top of her class, and her great apartment was still great. She had nothing to lose. The only other man she was close to was Oliver, and they were strictly friends. It was a steadfast agreement. Sure, she still experienced the odd and terrifying thrill of attraction when he walked around shirtless or flashed those dimples, but she would have to be dead not to notice him.

Things between them now were good. Occasionally, they would even exchange an inquiry or tidbit about their romantic lives in a friendly fashion, however brief. There was no use going into too much detail about it all; usually, she had nothing to tell. Plus, she really had no interest in a report of his extracurricular activities in the face of her chronic singleness, and she was sure he had no desire to listen to the riveting details of her crush on Benedict Cumberbatch.

Therefore, although the thing with Ray was a new development, she didn't think it critical to mention.

One Friday night on which she'd agreed to let Ray insert himself into her plans, she attempted to subtly inspect the state of her lipstick in her compact when a figure lingered behind her.

Oliver. Clearly, he was brooding about something. He'd been sour all week.

She turned to confront him but stopped herself. She'd seen his look before, and it had never worked out well for her. The fake I-love-you incident had been over two years ago, and it had nearly destroyed her. She could admit that now. She had been that poor techy girl who had a crush on her billionaire vigilante coworker slash boss. She'd mooned over him and engaged in an ill-begotten pseudo-flirty relationship with him despite her best interest and his revolving door of women. Seriously, was there any attractive female in his vicinity whom he hadn't seduced!?

When she'd finally come to her senses and walked away, Felicity knew that anything more than friendship was a road to be forever forbidden. In fact, she’d always known it. The Hood was the single worst candidate for a relationship in the history of the world. She knew that. She’d always known that. It wasn’t until he took her for granted and used her as bait that she’d forgotten. She didn’t forget now, and she didn't need to. She was happy. They were friends, and it was how it should be. They worked together as a team, and that was all she’d ever wanted. Team Arrow was the first true family she’d ever known, and all she’d ever wanted growing up had been a family.

“Going to see Ray?” His cold tone broke her train of thought.

“Mm hmm.” Her blood boiled, but she nodded and turned away from her computer to give him a tight smile. She swallowed down the burn in her chest. The less she spoke, the better.

His eyes were an icy blue. They could freeze the blood in a weaker person's veins.

After a few loaded moments, she closed her compact with a snap. She stood up and shrugged on a light jacket with annoyance. “You can stop acting like my overprotective brother, you know.” She flipped her hair outside of her coat and pulled on her purse. “I like Ray a lot.”

His eye seemed to twitch at the mention of his name. "Ray," he said tightly. His eyes bored into hers, but she didn't look away. Finally, he sighed but didn’t move a muscle. “I’m happy that you’re happy. We agreed on those terms.”

"We did." She narrowed her eyes. “So I’m happy that you’re happy that I’m happy.”

He gave her a look that was laced with a trace of impishness, the backwards black hole effect. Even when she was acting like a bitch, he appreciated her wit.

She bristled and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She brushed past him with a far steadier gait than she believed possible.

“Goodnight Felicity.” His steely voice reached her as she ascended the steps from the lair. It crept up the back of her legs and slid up her spine before settling against her neck.

She ran up the last few steps and didn't relent her pace until she was within a block of the restaurant. Her pulse didn't slow until the entrees arrived.

*->*

This was such a cliché.

Team Arrow’s latest mission required her participation. Currently, she was undercover as Oliver Queen’s latest arm candy. She could barely repress a gag as he schmoozed other billionaires with fabricated tales of wasteful exorbitance. His left hand stroked her lower back, and she was struck with a pang of sadness. It was such a shame that none of these people would ever really see the true Oliver. It must be ceaselessly exhausting to live his double life. Maybe it was the shameless superfluousness of this event, but the idea really began to irk her.

“Darling?” His sharp hiss caught her attention. “Care to ease it on the judgment over there? You’re practically exuding revulsion.”

“Sorry.” She shook her head and noticed he’d steered them outside. It was nearly November, and she clutched her bare arms in the cold. “I’ve never been gifted in the covert-ops department.”

She felt him shake with laughter. “And I’ve always been well aware of that fact.” He exhaled, and she looked his way. He gazed out across the city, and his expression was unreadable as always.

Her brow furrowed at his faraway gaze while her mind swam with ideas about the rich and injustice. If only the wealthy were forced to put their own lives on the line in order to protect-

“Somehow, you’ve still managed to charm all of my acquaintances.” He shook his head in some secret amusement, and she stilled. “I’ve never heard so many remarks about the improvement in the caliber of my date in my life. I don’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted.”

“Flattered, naturally,” she answered archly.

He turned to her and gave her his most incapacitating smile. She almost forget about its existence until he whipped it out in moments like this. She rolled her eyes, those damn dimples! He should utilize that skill on missions. He could smile the bad guys to death.

“If they knew the real you,” she spoke mainly to break the quiet of their locked gaze and to give voice to her earlier thoughts. He shifted beside her. “They wouldn’t be so surprised.” She shrugged. “I was thinking that it’s such a shame you’re forced to hide it from everyone. You’re taking all of the risks but getting none of the recognition, while these entitled elite receive protection without lifting a finger. It just isn't fair! You're out there every night risking your life for this city, you’re a changed man, and yet everyone treats you like a spoiled trust fund kid with a penchant for uncouth women and nightclubs." She turned to him expecting to find a smile and halted mid-rant.

He was silent and staring at her intently.

Stubbornly, she felt her cheeks heat. She had no reason to feel embarrassed. They’d shared several meaningful conversations like this about Starling City and its inhabitants, and they were never awkward. Ever. Sure there had been that one weird exchange before her date with Ray...she bit her lip. Damn it. She just had to open her mouth. She just had to unintentionally upset this fine balance they'd achieved.

She fidgeted with her bag and ached to escape this moment. She should check her phone. Ray probably wanted an update on her-

“If they knew the real me,” his voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, and the hairs rose on the back of her neck. She felt his body turn towards her. Heat radiated off of him in waves. Some part of her wanted to, but she couldn’t turn to fully face him. A larger part of her felt stuck to her spot with one hand on the balcony railing. She stared out at a point just over his right shoulder. The October wind sent a shiver up her spine.

He cleared his throat, “If they-” His hesitation scorched her skin. He sighed, and she noticed his shoulders sag from the corner of her eye.

She gripped the railing like a vice.

“Without the mask, I’m vulnerable,” he finally finished.

Breath returned to her lungs, and she slowly released her grip. Eventually, she could look at him.

His eyes were so raw they nearly tore her apart. He looked undone. For once, he was staring at her like the victim who needed saving.

She’d seem him in all manners of undress more times than she could count, but she’d never seen him this naked. His blue eyes swam before her, and she leaned forward. Somehow, she managed to stumble while standing completely still, and he reflexively caught her hand as she steadied herself. Warmth and sensation zinged up her arm and down her back. She whipped her hand away. “I'm sorry.” She breathed. She turned away in a fluster and dug through her purse for her phone.

“Queen.” His hand shot up to his ear as a message came through his earpiece from the lair. He nodded tightly, and she relished the moment to collect herself. “Let Roy handle it.”

She had absolutely no clue what was going on tonight and guiltily peeked at her phone. Her stomach unclenched. There were no missed alerts from Ray. She sighed; she didn’t know why she had this sudden sense of wrongdoing. Ray knew very well what she was doing tonight and with whom. Ray liked Oliver. He was totally cool with this.

When she looked up from her phone, Oliver was smiling at her expectantly. Gone was the terrifying and vulnerable man from moments ago. She wiped her tingly, clammy palm against her expensive dress.

“Ready to continue the charade, Dr. Smoak?” He offered her his arm.

“Always.” She smirked back and accepted.

*->*

Sometimes, when it was just the two of them, and they were enduring a particularly stressful mission, Oliver would plunge Verdant into club mode in the daytime. Somehow, he always managed to choose Felicity’s favorite song of the moment and blasted it over the top-notch stereo system. Then, despite everything. Despite her sweatpants, his exhaustion, or her total lack of partying experience - they would dance.

She would close her eyes, lose herself, and let it all out with the music.

Eventually, she’d open her eyes to find Oliver doing some exaggerated fist pumping, hip thrusting, or equally absurd movement, and she would join him until the game escalated into utter stupidity. By the end of the song, they would always end up laughing their guts out on the floor. She’d wipe tears from her eyes as the music surged, lights flashed, and Oliver mirrored her fight to catch her breath. In these moments, she felt absolute bliss. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and she knew he felt the exact same way as their eyes locked. Why was it so exhilarating to share this silly exuberance with someone else? Before long, he’d start nodding along again until they repeated the whole ridiculous thing. It could last minutes or hours. Sometimes, they even drank. Every time, their troubles became far more feasible.

Tonight, as Oliver finished gyrating to Britney Spears, she gasped for air and clutched at her sides. She collapsed, and he fell down beside her on a low velvet couch.

His eyes glowed with total mirth in the club lights.

“Why is real partying never this fun?” She wondered loudly.

He nudged her with his shoulder. “Because you have to get too drunk.”

She chuckled and nudged him back. “I have way too much fun dancing like an idiot with you. It's embarrassing.”

His smile grew. “I’m totally ashamed of myself. No one should see me like this; I'm the vigilante!”

“I know!” She motioned down to her sweatpants. “This is a new level of trust. No one can every know about this." She sank further into the couch and felt emboldened and hyper with adrenaline. "Just imagine if Vertigo or Starling's countless criminals learned of your weakness for bad pop music.”

"Or your ability to draw me in with your criminally terrible dance moves."

"Hey!" She grabbed a pillow and flung it into his stomach. "I hope that's covered in bodily fluids." She moved to pull away from his undoubted retaliation, but he caught her hand and pulled her in. Her face was flushed with exertion as she wriggled in his grasp.

“I promise.” He pulled her closer and wound a hand around her back. She stilled.

Suddenly, she felt like she was choking on air. She scrambled to gain purchase somewhere with her feet and push away. Her brain went into overdrive.

“I will take this secret," he whispered, mouth now inches from her face, "to my grave.”

Felicity's heart sputtered as his rough hand released her wrist and the other disappeared from her person. The song ended. A new one began with a slower beat. Absently, she realized she was free. She should probably move away.

She pulled her hand back into her lap and licked her dry lips. She tried to shake off the tingle in her fingers. Oliver hadn't moved an inch. “That’s a bit morbid for my taste." She stood and straightened her sweatpants unnecessarily. "But I’ll take it.”

He smiled again, and a beat thumped strongly in her chest that had nothing to do with the music.

*->*

Things with Ray had been strained of late. Crime had surged in November through this week before the holidays, and Felicity had been spending almost all of her time in the lair.

Oliver stormed in from the gathering blizzard after another successful, albeit stressful, mission, and Diggle seethed in right behind him.

Roy arrived a few minutes later.

Oliver ripped off his hood and stomped past her without a word.

She raised a questioning brow at Diggle.

His look darkened. “He’s an idiot.”

“Ooookay,” she responded and returned her attention to her safe computer screens. Definitely not getting involved in that. Why was every man in her life in a mood? It was Christmas for god's sake!

Roy took off his mask and gave the training dummy several enthusiastic thwacks. Apparently, he was in contrastingly joyful spirits.

The boys’ noise soon faded into the background as she pounded reports of their latest missions into the database and did several last minute scans of surrounding servers. Currently, she was testing out the prototype from her dissertation. It could decrypt any security program installed in under ten minutes.

“Felicity,” a male voice rumbled behind her, and she instinctively leaned back into the pressure on her chair. Ray must have come to take her home. She hadn’t checked her phone for hours.

The man hesitated behind her, and she was plunged back into the reality of her surroundings.

Damn it, she was definitely not back in her apartment. She was still in the lair. Cringing, she sat up straight and stretched her back; what time was it anyway? The blazing computer screen read 3:04 A.M. She turned to find Oliver standing behind her with a penetrating gaze. Her hands flew self-consciously to her hair. She must look an absolute fright. “I lost track of the time…” her voice was scratchy with disuse.

His eyes softened, and his mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “I know. You’ve been doing that a lot.”

He was so close. She could count his eyelashes. “Ray will be so angry.”

His mouth twitched further upwards as his eyes shone. “Ray will definitely be angry.”

Heat trickled down her neck and engulfed her entire body.

He turned her chair around until his hands rested on her armrests. He fully invaded her personal space.

She froze. They hadn’t been this close since the hug during their reconciliation. She much preferred the distance. Her breathing was coming in erratic spurts.

“I don’t know if anyone will see me the way you do-” His warm voice rolled over her as her mind caught on; he was continuing their months-old conversation from the balcony at the party for billionaires.

She gripped the armrests of her chair with white knuckles. His hands were only centimeters away from her own. She dimly realized that no other person took so long to formulate a response-

“But I’m hanging up my hood. I’m tired of hiding.”

She did a double take. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Her eyes found his; his serious expression was a confirmation. Suddenly, emotion welled up in her chest, and she feared she might burst. She was mortified to feel her eyes prickle with tears. She felt sad, she felt confused, she felt indescribable happiness – damn it she’d devolved into an absolute mess. And all from the few muttered words of Oliver Queen. Words that were still enigmatic no matter how much he laced them with gravelly insinuation. “I don’t understand,” she managed, hands releasing their grip and covering her mouth. “The Hood is your whole life. We’re a team-” She pushed the chair out his reach and stood.

He straightened. “I want a new life,” his voice was firm. His eyes needled into her. “And I want us to always be a team.”

"Oliver." She shook her head. "You're speaking in riddles again. You're continuing some brief exchange we had two months ago, and it's just..." She threw up her hands. "I don't know if I like where this is going. It's three o'clock in the morning, and you just drop this huge bomb on me about quitting the team; I'm exhausted, you had a rough mission tonight, and I-" She bit her lip. "I think we both need to get home and sleep."

"I'm sorry." He looked anything but. "Am I being unclear?"

She sighed. She didn't have it in her to play these games. "Extremely."

"Also, I'm not tired." He smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "Well," she said as she picked up her purse and coat decisively, "I am." He shuffled behind her as she straightened her desk. She muttered a goodbye as her steps echoed across the silent lair, and she turned back one last time as her shoe met the first stair.

"Do you know what today is?" He was far closer than she anticipated. She often forget his innate talent for sneaking up on people.

"December twentieth," she answered with ill-concealed exasperation.

"One year since I finally gathered the courage to show up at your apartment."

His eyes were so blue. She could so easily fall into them. With a scowl, she pushed her glasses up onto her head. It was far easier dealing with him in soft focus. "Plain English, Oliver."

He made an exasperated noise. He looked like he wanted to run away.

She almost wished he would.

"I'm that guy."

"What?" She was beginning to feel loopy with lack of sleep.

"I'm that spoiled rich guy who inevitably falls for his adorable, hilarious, 'geeky.'" He made air quotes with his fingers. "Best friend."

She dropped her stuff to the ground with a thump. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged. Worry etched lines across his forehead. "I love you."

She lowered her glasses back to her eyes. "Are you kidding me?"

"No."

She stepped towards him. "What was the one thing you promised me when we became friends again?"

"I know exactly what I promised you goddammit, and that's why this is so difficult."

"Difficult!" she exclaimed. She laughed without mirth. "You don't even know the first thing about difficult!" She paused. "Ok, maybe that isn't true, but what I mean to say is that you don't know the first thing about difficult when it comes to relationships or love. Every woman throws herself at you!"

"Oh yeah?" He clenched his jaw and exhaled. "How about being hopelessly enamored with someone who comes to loathe you and purposefully remove all traces of you from her life? How about finally rekindling a friendship with that person only to watch her fall for some souped up, handsome, brainiac, while you dissolve into the shadows?"

She felt herself slipping into the depths of his probing gaze and sugared words. This was too easy; this wasn't how things were supposed to go between them. They were friends. This wasn't real. He was just jealous; she'd been there countless of times before and mistakenly confused it for something deeper.

She stepped away from him. This was the reason she'd walked out all those years ago, this grey area between them. She had allowed herself the privilege before of feeling where it was forbidden. She’d been so stupid. Just like Oliver, she couldn’t risk caring for anyone while working for Team Arrow. It was too dangerous. This whole thing was impossible. They were both overtired, and Felicity doubted he still had the capacity for such emotion anyways. His whole life was this mission. His whole life was this fight; he could never give it up. She wouldn't want him to. "Please." She rested a hand on the staircase railing. "Don't say something that we'll both regret. I'll miss you too much, Oliver."

His jaw was set in a stubborn line. "I want you. I’m sorry that I hurt you, and I know that I did. I’m sorry that it took me so long to tell you."

"Damn it, Oliver-"

"If I-” he stuttered and laughed to himself. “If I felt less, then I’d be able to talk about it more.”

She stared at him. She was speechless.

He shrugged. "Does that unravel the riddle for you?"

She was exhausted, and this whole thing made her head hurt. So, she figured It was her turn to be enigmatic and his turn to squirm. "Meet me at our cafe tomorrow at two o'clock; right now, I need to pass out in my bed away from all of this. I will talk to you about riddles then." She turned to walk up the staircase.

"I'll be counting down the hours!" His voice carried up to her.

She bolted up the last three steps.

*->*

She wore her rattiest sweatshirt and not a stitch of makeup.

Oliver beamed as he sat across from her, offering her a steaming mug of Earl Grey. "I see that you've gone for the au naturale look this morning. It suits you."

"Well." She added milk to her tea. "I've got nobody to impress."

He gave her a look. "That sweatshirt is so unbearably foul that all I can think of is getting it off of you."

"Oliver!" she exclaimed. He smirked.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Can't you just drop this?"

"No." His look darkened and all signs of playfulness extinguished. "I love you. I want you. I don't want anyone else to have you."

"You've literally lost your mind-"

"I have not." He stood up and moved to the seat right next to hers. He looked at her expectantly.

She reeled. "Of course." She set her shaking mug on the table with a clatter. "Of course. You decide that you suddenly have feelings for me, and the 'adorable,' 'geeky' girl." She motioned to herself with trembling hands then busied them with a packet of sugar. "Is just meant to drop everything and rejoice." She shook her head and made a noise of disgust. "I have a boyfriend, Oliver. I like him."

Fear flashed in his eyes.

"I don't like you that way." She tore the sugar packet in two and white crystals scattered across the marble table top. She stilled and turned wide eyes on him. "So stop trying to smize your way into my life."

"Smize?" His lips quirked but couldn't cover up his fear.

"You know?" She indicated his person. "The blue eyes and the dimples and-" she rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I know that you're afraid of me." His eyes grew hooded, and his voice took on a rasp. The vigilante simmered just beneath the surface.

She snorted with more bravado than she felt. "Oh yeah, you're totally terrifying." She halted. "I mean-" she shrugged. "You are terrifying but-"

"You're afraid that I'm not serious, and that I'm going to break your heart." "And what?"

Her voice rose. "I'm no threat to you at all?" Colour rose to her cheeks and her eyes shone a sharp blue.

"Are you serious, Felicity?" he hissed and leaned closer. "Can't you tell that I'm fucking scared out of my mind?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't own a Fortune 500 company started by only my own genius and hard work, I don't have a doctorate or superhuman hacking skills, or even a graduate degree. I-" He raised his hands and dropped them into his lap. "I'm not even particularly funny, and I've been kind of a jerk. So yes, you are a threat to me."

She reached for her mug, and it hung limply in her hands. She starred into the soft grey liquid inside. She could feel those blue eyes staring straight into her soul. "I'm-"

"You are the happy one. You have the apartment, the brains, and the brilliant boyfriend." He clapped his palms onto his thighs and sat back. He stared darkly into the distance. "I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I just thought that after that night at the billionaire party you hated so much-" Clear blue eyes connected with her own. "You said that thing about the real me and that I'm a changed man, and I haven't been able to get it out of my head." His look implored her. "I know that you like Ray, and I know that you're happy. I just-" He swallowed. "After the island, I never thought anyone would ever really know me or forgive me after all of the things that I've done."

A hush seemed to have descended upon the cafe. Felicity could feel eyes on her from all directions and shrugged into the security of her sweatshirt. She resisted the urge to hug her knees up to her chest and picked at a fray in her jeans with her pinky. "Everyone makes mistakes, Oliver."

"I know in a way that you've always seen me as some"-he sighed-"I don't know, some larger than life, spoiled heir like all of the other people at that party, but that night together led me to believe that you don't dislike me or judge me as much as I'd thought."

She felt him shift beside her. "Of course I don't think of you like those people." She glared at him. "I've put everything on the line for you, twice. I don't think your some hapless, rich moron, Oliver. Why else would I be working for you? Why else would I be friends with you?"

"But you don't think we're on the same level." His voice rose. "You've always had a wall up between us. You've always held something back-" His hand ghosted against her knuckles.

Tingles erupted across her hand and up her arm, and she whipped it away from him. "Obviously I do." She snapped, which only attracted more attention. She began to shrug on her coat and dig out some spare cash. "You're my coworker and for all intents and purposes, basically my boss despite what you've said about partners. We're not operating on the same playing field. We never were." She stood up and slapped down a ten dollar bill. "Now you're offering to hang up- to quit your job." She lowered her voice. "You're confessing all of these"-she struggled with the words-"feelings! I'm blindsided. I-" She put a hand to her head. "I just don't know how this can work, and I feel trapped." She locked eyes with him and missed the old Oliver. She missed the innocence of her fantasies when they were just that. Some part of her had always known that they would never come true then. There had never been a real risk of heartache.

He stood with her. "I've already paid for the tea."

She turned away from him and pushed out of the door and onto the frigid street. She tucked herself away from the biting wind around the corner and knew she was being childish. She shouldn't have bolted out like that. She tugged up her coat collar more protectively around her; she should've stayed to hear him out.

"Take the money back at least."

She stared up into mesmerizing blue.

The ghost of a smile lingered in his eyes, and he shrugged a shoulder. "I'm not an heir for nothing."

She snatched the money from his outstretched hand. "You are much more than that." His stare was incredibly intense. "I still want to work at the office, and I want to keep being friends."

His nod was slow. It was almost painful; realization dawned on both of them. "I want those things too." His eyes pinned her. "I want you to be happy."

A few more moments of silence settled between them. "I'll see you tomorrow?" She strove for casual with her tone. She sounded strangled.

"Yes."

"Okay." She nodded. "Okay," she repeated with a forced smile, beginning to walk away from him backwards.

"Okay." His dimples were out. "Goodbye, Felicity." He waved and disappeared into the crowd.

She picked up a pint of toffee-flavoured ice cream on her walk home and watched four hours of Friends. Ray was out of town until Tuesday.

*->*

"The Daffy Duck or the plain black?" Ray evaluated his reflection and tie selection in the mirror as Felicity flopped onto his bed.

Her feet ached from a long day at work, and her head pulsed with lack of sleep. "It's very important to make a brash and daring fashion statement at these type of things." She raised a brow. "So definitely the plain black."

His arms fell to his sides. "This is for the most important board meeting of my life in Gotham City, Felicity." He threw the offending black tie into his hamper. "I'm being serious."

She sat up and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I know, Ray. I'm very familiar with the super important board meeting in Gotham City."

He turned to her with a dark expression. "Then you know that I'm looking for a serious answer."

She stood. "What's going on? I only wanted to lighten the mood."

Ray broke eye contact and stared at the carpet.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. God, they were so sore. "Is something wrong?"

He stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. "You're always at the office."

"I've told you how critical things at work have been recently." She moved to place a hand on his shoulder. "I warned you about this a month ago-"

"It was nearly six weeks ago-" He pulled away from her and refocused on packing his suitcase. "And after New Years you said it would be over in two weeks." He looked at her with soft eyes. That expression always melted her insides. "Fel." He shook his head. "I just don't see how this is going to work. I will be in Gotham indefinitely if this merger succeeds, and we can't even manage to spend time together now."

"Seriously?" She responded, eyes searching for something to steady herself. "Since when has that ever been an issue? We both knew how important our respective careers were when we began this relationship. It was one of the things that attracted me to you most."

He nodded and brushed past her. "I know." He placed in hands on his giant, mahogany desk. He closed his eyes, and he sighed. "It's not just the work, Felicity."

She drew up her laptop to her chest and stared at him over her glasses. "What do you mean?" She eyed him. "All I've been doing when I'm not with you is working."

"Are you?" His stare burned into hers for several tense seconds. "I love competition, but not this way."

She stared back at him, and he didn't flinch. She forced back the tears that began to burn in her throat. No. No, this was not happening. This would not be ruined. This was something just for her. She made a noise of disbelief and bit the inside of her cheek, turning away from him. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I wish that I was." She listened as he zipped his suitcase closed and pulled on his suit jacket. The sounds seemed as final as the tone of his voice. They sounded like all of her wants and dreams being zipped up and taken far away to Gotham City.

She searched around the room, unsure of what exactly she needed. Her eyes sought his. "It was always just the work for me." Her voice sounded so small.

He smiled and shook his head. His dark eyes shone as they connected with hers. "I believe you."

Her eyes narrowed in disbelief as his own stayed on her unwaveringly. He believed her, but he still wanted to end it. He believed her, but he looked at her like she was some naive child. As if she were invincible against some force greater than herself. It hardened her heart into a cold block of ice.

"Good luck in Gotham, Ray." Her voice dripped with venom. Anger radiated off of her like a poison, and she swung her laptop bag over her shoulder with force. She promised herself that she wouldn't let him see her cry.

"Thank you."

She could feel his heat just behind her, but she turned away. She didn't give him a backwards glance on her way out.

*->*

Felicity slammed that stubborn drawer for the fifteenth time this morning to obtain a sick sense of relief. She hadn't slept a wink after the talk with Ray last night, and she hadn't drank any coffee. She didn't want any way to alleviate her misery; she wanted to feel as terrible as possible.

She slammed the drawer shut again. The dozen roses Ray had sent her for Valentine's Day last week sat atop her desk and trembled in the aftershock. They taunted her.

Diggle eyed Oliver over her head and moved into another room.

"Something you want to say, Felicity?" Oliver approached her and leaned against the wall closest to her station.

She rolled her eyes as she spun in her chair to face him and bit down on the pen in her mouth. Her stomach jolted under the scrutiny of vivid blue, and she turned back to her computers. "Nothing you'd want to hear," she mumbled to her screens.

"Excuse me?"

"These hard drives are lagging too much again." She pushed away from her desk and strode toward the tiny mini fridge that she'd added recently. She ate almost exclusively in the lair these days. "And it smells." She turned to glower at him and cracked open a bottle of water. "Like boy." She took a swig.

He clenched his jaw. "Duly noted"

She ducked down and up from the fridge again with disappointment. "And the fridge needs to be restocked." She set down the open water bottle with disgust. She sniffed and crossed her arms. She was almost daring him.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

She tapped brightly polished fingers against her arm. "Oh, I don't know." She shrugged. "Maybe some actual time off?"

"Fine." He exhaled. "It's only ten in the morning, but please Felicity-" he motioned to the stairs-"go home."

"Ha!" She laughed cruelly and pointed at him. "But who will deal with the hard drives, the fridge, the smell-"

"Yes, how will we ever survive with the smell-"

"It's just pity time off, which is even worse than no time at all!" She stalked towards him. "It's always, 'Oh you look tired, Felicity,' 'Why don't you take a nap on the couch, Felicity,'" she spat and began to pace. "'Don't worry, you're time off just puts the entire city at risk, Felicity.'" She turned to him and nearly erupted spotting the amused look on his face. Instead, she picked up the water bottle and chucked it to the far end of the room as hard as she could. It shattered with a satisfying smash. Obviously, the Queens only bought Perrier.

He raised a brow.

She found her way back to her desk and sank down into her chair. She put her head in her hands. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He was right beside her. She'd forgotten how talented he was at sneaking up on people. "I'll have my on-call maids clean it up along with the smell."

She smiled and looked into his eyes. Stress and pain seemed to evaporate from her shoulders. "As long as there are male maids as well as female ones, to battle gender stereotypes."

He laughed. His dimples were so unfair. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of hiring exclusively female maids."

"Of course." She laughed for a moment and sighed. She picked up the pen and put it back in her mouth to keep it occupied. Then, she pulled it back out with a pop. "I'm so sorry. I've been a total douchebag today."

He barked with laughter. "I wasn't going to say anything..."

"No." She raised an insistent hand. "You can say it. I know it; Diggle surely knows it; we all know it." She couldn't turn away from his eyes.

He stayed leaning against the wall and watching her.

Her smile faded. "We broke up."

He just looked at her. Noises from Diggle echoed in the background. The sense of unease crept back up into her shoulder blades and neck.

"What?"

She ducked her head. "Ray and I broke up."

A huge clang rang out across the lair. She scrambled to gather her bag and jacket.

"Okay." His voice was so quiet that she almost missed it.

She turned to him and nodded. "Okay." She took a deep breath. "I'll be all better tomorrow."

He cleared his throat and nodded in agreement. "Excellent."

"Yep." She popped the last sound on her lips.

They stared at each other until Diggle came back into the room, and she sprinted for the stairs, both of them silently promising to never discuss their personal lives ever again.

*->*

"No," he rasped into her ear. He squared off in front of her again; sweat darkened his grey t-shirt. "You have to keep your hands up at all times," he growled. "It's Defense 101."

"Ok." Her mouth was dry, and her head pounded. She'd had far too many Irish Car Bombs at the bar last night with Laurel. Green eyeliner still smudged her lower lashes, and the temporary four leaf clover tattoo was bright on her hand.

He scowled then stalked behind her to adjust her elbow. His hands skimmed over her hips.

"I got it," she hissed, twisting away from him. She was far too aware of her overlarge pink sweatshirt and spandex capris.

Oliver raised his hands in surprise, scowl still firmly in place. His expression changed as he placed his hands on his hips and studied her knowingly.

She swallowed and tugged her sweatshirt down her thighs. She ignored the plethora of sensations swimming all over her body. She hadn't realized until last night at the bar just how damn horny she was. And then she'd totally forgotten that Oliver had agreed to train her today. She wiped sweat from her brow and squared up again. This training could not come at a worse time.

He furrowed a discerning brow, and his eyes danced with delight. "Rough night?"

She moved to deliver a jab to his side. "I always like my nights rough."

Even seemingly unprepared, he dodged her with ease and laughed. Clearly, her unintentional innuendo was not lost on either of them.

"Crimity," she muttered and ducked one of his feints. Why must her mouth always be her most dangerous asset? She ducked away from him again and drove forward to hit him in the chest, but he caught her around the waist and took her to the floor in one fell swoop. "Oomph." She spluttered. She stared at the ceiling before she even knew what had happened. His tackle knocked the wind out of her.

"Sorry," he hissed from somewhere near her neck. His warm breath and masculine scent washed over her hypnotically. She fought to catch her breath and retain her faculties as he struggled to get them out of their precarious situation. Finally, he hitched his body forward to disentangle them only to rub against her in the most inappropriate way.

"Uhnnn," Felicity moaned.

Oliver froze.

The sound echoed across the lair. There was no way that he didn't hear it or realize exactly what it was. She clapped a hand to her mouth. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Her stupid hormones! She was so vulnerable right now that there was no way she could've stifled that noise. Please let the floor just open up and swallow her whole. Why did he have to be so damn close to her and rub all over her like this? Wasn't this defensive training and not Seduction 101? This was all his fault!

Oliver rolled off of her like he was bailing out of fiery airplane. He stood and paced toward the mini-fridge.

She sat up and raised a dazed hand to her glasses. She glanced at Oliver's tense back. "I'm extremely hungover." She sounded as meek as a church mouse and hoped it served as an apology. A hungover girl could not be held accountable for her actions. It was a fact.

"No kidding," he grunted.

Gingerly, she tucked her knees in and moved to stand. "I completely spaced on this training today. I'm sorry; it won't happen again." She looked at him as he retrieved a Perrier from the fridge, twisted it open, and demolished it in three large gulps. She watched, transfixed, as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat with each powerful swallow.

He exhaled and set the bottle down on a table. Then, he whipped it at a far wall.

She jumped at its explosive impact, shards of glass shooting everywhere, and turned towards him with wide eyes. Her breath began coming out in short spurts.

"That didn't provide as much relief as I'd hoped." He clenched his jaw. He stalked towards her.

She fiddled with the hem of her sweatshirt, unable to look away.

He was inches away from her. "Why-" He paused in his very Oliver-like way. His fists were in tight balls by his side.

She gulped. "Why?"

He flexed a palm. He reached out and ran his hand over the baggy sleeve of her sweatshirt. His touch scorched. "This is a horrible sweater for training." He tugged at the hood. He paused again for a very long time and stared directly into her eyes. "Are you wearing anything underneath it?"

Her chest felt so constricted that she could barely breathe. She fought to hold onto anything sensible in her brain. Word vomit threatened to rear its ugly head with every torturous moment.

His pupils seemed to dilate, and Oliver turned away from her.

Felicity took a step back and brought a hand to her chest. Oliver remained a few feet away. "Yep," she heard herself answer, and his head shot back in her direction, pupils definitely larger. The flimsy tank top beneath her sweatshirt felt itchy and glued to her skin; she was a perspiring and bra-less mess. There was no way in hell that she was removing the sweatshirt in front of Oliver. She'd be practically topless in front of him!

His darkening gaze, however, didn't falter, and she squirmed under his observation. He inhaled. "Take it off; we need to train."

Blood and heat rushed between her legs as he moved toward her and squared up. He was so close that she could count each tiny hair of stubble dotting his chin and taste his breath on her tongue. She could memorize the seventy shades of blue in his eyes to her heart's content. She leaned forward-shit. She pushed away and moved to the edge of the training mats. She felt an awful clenching in her chest and closed her eyes. She couldn't believe that she was here again.

Shakily, Felicity turned, narrowed her eyes, and fixed him with a glare. She pulled the sweatshirt's hood over her head and stuck out her chin. "No," she said. "I don't care what you or your blue eyes want; it stays on." She refused to bend to him. She would not be so easily charmed by his wiles like she had been so many years ago; he may be that guy, but she was not that girl.

He smirked and took another step forward in response. "Felicity," he said and his voice rumbled, "I'm not talking about training anymore. We're done with that for the day." He was inches from her. She smelled his shampoo.

"Then," she said, "I guess I'll go home. I really need the sleep."

He took another step. His body now pressed against hers, and she felt every hard plane of it despite the layer of bulky material between them. He didn't say a word. With slow hands, he reached up toward her face and held onto the top of her hood. Slowly, he pulled it down just over her eyes.

She swallowed and began to see double. She felt the outline of his beating heart against her, and his eyes stared straight into her soul. They weren't turning away. He wasn't turning away. She smelled fresh peppermint. She saw bright sharp blue. It all moved closer. And closer...warm lips pressed against her own. She gasped and felt a smile against her skin. Her body ignited at the rough brush of stubble rubbing against her chin and mouth. A hand settled into the base of her ponytail. She moaned.

The warm lips disappeared. "You've gotta stop doing that." He pulled back, hands up as if in surrender.

She just stared at him.

"I'm serious." He clenched his jaw.

Adrenaline pounded through her system. She pulled back her hood.

His eyes widened. "Felicity, I need you to know"-he swallowed-"this is for real. I'm sorry that I can't leave you alone; I love you. And you've never looked more beautiful than you do right now in that ridiculous pink sweatshirt."

Her heart felt lodged in her throat. She pulled off the sweatshirt.

Oliver's gaze devoured her, and he drew her close. His lips obliterated her every defense, and his large hands gripped onto her sides and rubbed up the length of them. He made an appreciative noise as he clawed at her flimsy top until he found bare skin. He kissed and sucked at her neck and jaw. He found her lips again. "Mmm," he moaned.

She laughed into his mouth. She felt like laughing forever.

He groaned and pushed them against the nearest table.

"When you mentioned defensive training"-she made a noise of delight as he grabbed her and moved against her-"I imagined it under different circumstances." She shut up and returned to kissing him to staunch the inevitable idiocy she would emit otherwise.

He stilled.

Shit. She'd already done it. "Very platonic circumstances," she said to clarify.

He pulled back. His eyes were hooded and his breath short. "Really?" he said and his blue eyes laced with mischief, "because I never did."

Her stomach swooped as he kissed her again and lifted her onto the table. The table where she normally ate lunch. Her body felt like some floating ray of light; one wrong move might shatter this moment, but she was so full of bliss. She'd never felt this much. He kissed her everywhere. Her neck, her lips, her nose, her lips, her jaw, her collarbone, her lips, her shoulder - she couldn't keep track. She felt like a bubble ready to burst as she gave it back to him as well as she could manage. His hands burned through her thin top as they crept upwards; he grazed the base of her breasts and-"Are we going to have sex?!"

Oliver came to an abrupt halt.

Her heart felt like it was about leap out of her chest.

He seemed to regain his motor function and exhaled. He nuzzled her shoulder. He nuzzled her neck. He hummed into her hair. "Felicity, I wasn't exactly thinking about-"

"I mean." She scooted back from him on the table. She caught his eye. "I'm hungover. I'm wearing a hideous sweatshirt despite your questionable opinions"-she counted off on her fingers-"spandex pants, and last night's makeup." "Yes." She cocked her head to the side. "And you still want to have sex with me?"

He made a disgruntled noise. "Fe-li-ci-ty." He squeezed her hips with his hands. His eyes burned into hers. "I-"

"I'm sorry; I'm a talker. I know this. You know this." "-I do-" "And I'm not exactly in my right mind. I'm super, crazy horny right now-"

He chuckled.

"And I-"

"Shh." He put a firm finger to her lips. He stared intently at her. "Listen. Please. Just listen for one second."

Slowly, she nodded. His finger felt warm and strong against her mouth.

"Yes, I want to have sex with you." He lowered his finger. "In the morning, I want to have sex with you. Right here, in this room, when you walk in to work, I want to have sex with you. When you're working in the afternoon and you're tapping away at your keys or gnawing away at a pen, I want to have sex with you. When you stay here too late and push your glasses up on top of your head and you raid the mini fridge, I wish that I was having sex with you. When you wear an incredibly tight dress, or a ponytail, or your hair down, or a hideous sweatshirt." He moved closer. "When you were with Ray." He gripped her hips harder. "I wanted to have sex with you. I want to have sex with you."

Oh. Her mouth hung open. Just a bit. Flames ignited across her skin. His hands sent shivers up her spine.

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response. "And not just one time, more than one time." He shrugged. "Is that clear enough for you?"

She stared at him wide-eyed. She swallowed and finally offered him a shaky nod.

He exhaled and dropped his head against her shoulder. His breath fanned out across her chest, and one hand moved from her hips to cover her own open palm. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

She was still processing this whole thing. It never occurred to her that Oliver Queen might want her. Might want her in this primal, animalistic way. Her in her swotty ponytails, sensible flats, and cartoonish work outfits. She inhaled his heady scent and bit back a groan. She'd come to believe in the past few months that Oliver could truly love her, but desire was an entirely different beast. Doubt and resolve swam around her head like a storm; she'd made promises when she allowed him back into her life. She committed to avoid this grey area. She pulled back from him and found his eyes.

"I forgot to add that I won't be having sex with anybody else, nor do I want to."

Her heart skipped a beat. Well, Oliver Queen had just annihilated the grey area. "Yes," she said, and they both smiled.

*->*

They'd been having sex. A lot of sex. More sex, in fact, than Felicity had ever had in her entire life. It was insane. He'd tainted every single second of her workday. As she typed away at her computer now, for instance, her thoughts would inevitably stray to the fact that Oliver wanted to have sex with her while she did this. That he regularly fantasized about spinning her around and taking her on this very desk. In fact, they'd succumbed to that very fantasy just yesterday afternoon. She took a deep breath and pushed back from her work station; well, it was just impossible to accomplish anything productive in this type of environment. She dared anyone else to try it and succeed.

"Good morning," he rasped against her neck. His familiar smell of man and peppermint invaded her senses. A million incredible sensations erupted in the wake of the brush of his lips and beard.

She relaxed back into her chair and his touch. "Morning." She smiled and sighed into the delicious feelings he provoked.

"Diggle has the morning off." He slowly turned her chair around.

"You don't say?"

"Yes." His hooded eyes took in her low cut dress with appreciation. "He won't be here until after lunch."

"What an absolute shame." She grinned and reveled in the way his hands wound possessively around her waist.

"I'm extremely disappointed," he whispered against her ear.

She arched up against him, and he groaned. "This will be so detrimental to his yearend evaluation."

He hissed as she pushed him down onto her chair and straddled him. He had her out of that dress in under forty seconds.

*->*

"Do you know that Ray has been calling me?" Laurel appeared outside of Verdant, holding an umbrella against the relentless April downpour. Thankfully, it would be May in less than a week.

"Really?" Felicity moved to dodge around her. She avoided eye contact. "I didn't know he had your number."

"Yes, really!" Laurel splashed along behind her. "And you know damn well that he's been trying to get in touch with you."

Felicity shook out her hair as they reached the haven of verdant. "Well, obviously I don't want to be in touch with him."

"It's not fair, Felicity," she said and put her hands on her hips. "He misses you. He just wants to talk about Gotham and the job."

She shook out her umbrella. "I know that, Laurel. But, it's not my place anymore. Ray broke up with me." She inhaled and headed toward the lair. "I don't understand why you're even bringing this up."

"You loved Ray. You're being ridiculou-"

"No, I'm being completely norma-"

"Any normal person could see that he just wants to tal-"

"And any normal person could understand the concept of space after a brea-"

"It's because of Oliver," Laurel said and set her jaw, "isn't it?"

Felicity froze. She couldn't think of a word to say, and Laurel let her fester in silence.

"You were in love with him, and now he's in love with you." She sighed. "Don't deny it; it's obvious. We all know."

Felicity turned around and tried to fight the pain in her chest. "Good to know that we're the tawdry office gossip."

"No," Laurel said and scurried into the lair behind her, "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that you shouldn't feel guilt-"

"No!" Felicity exclaimed and pointed at Laurel. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't have to answer to any of it. Oliver and I are nothing, and we are certainly no one else's business." She shook her head. "I thought you of all people would understand that." She hurried down the staircase and didn't exchange a look with Oliver when she moved to her desk. She barely exchanged a word with him for the rest of the afternoon.

*->*

Two weeks.

He left her alone for two weeks.

On the fifteenth day, there was a knock on her apartment door. She opened the it, and he stood on the threshold in jeans and a black t-shirt. He was sporting stubble. He smiled. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she answered.

He stared at her with raised eyebrows.

She bit her lip. "I don't know what to say."

His smile grew, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. "Do you miss me?"

"Yes," she said softly. Her fingers itched to run across his shirt. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said. "I just want you to know that I'm here." He reached out and held her hand.

She swallowed. "This is real." She laughed and shook her head. "This is real." She looked back at him with a raised brow.

"Yeah," he said and smiled, dimples out in their full and irresistible force. "As I see it, we've been dating for about two months-"

"Two months!" She threw up her hands. "What? I mean, I haven't even-I-" she laughed and shook her head. "You're nuts!"

"I'm nuts?" He took a step inside and slid his arms around his waist. "I'm not the one studiously avoiding my significant other and feeling guilty over nothing." He brushed his lips against hers. "Ray is gone. He said goodbye to you, and as far as I'm concerned, I was there first."

She made a noise of a disapproval.

"Well," he said and shrugged, "I admit that it took me a while to realize it." He pressed his lips together and studied her. "You, Felicity, are the smart one."

She rolled her eyes. "And you're the pretty one."

"Hey!" He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. She cried in protest as he vaulted her over to the couch and lay her down. He hovered above her breathing heavily and she stared up at him. "I'm clearly the ruggedly handsome one."

"Okay," she said and laughed again. "You're the ruggedly handsome one."

"I am."

"And the normal one."

" _Well_ -"

"Aside from that whole vigilante-on-the-side-thing."

He kissed her firmly. "And the crazy girlfriend thing."

She kissed him back and felt that there must be sparkles in her eyes. She could lay here in his arms forever. "It's been four years," she whispered. "It only took four years." His fingers found the hem of her shirt, and his gaze found hers. Four years, and she was a new person. She was a survivor, a doctor, and a success in her own right. She didn't need Oliver or the lair; she chose them. She chose happiness. She chose the girl she knew herself to be. Oliver kissed her soundly. He pulled back, and his eyes were impossibly dark. Like usual, they saw straight through her.

"I love you, Felicity," he whispered. "And those four years were the longest of my life." His next kiss left her breathless.

Later, when Oliver was sprawled across her furniture, she crept into the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Her top bun fell in disarray across her head, and the little mascara she'd worn was smudged around her eyes. She raised a hand and touched the mark he'd left on her neck; it was warm. She touched the toothbrush he'd insisted upon having here and twirled it between her fingers. She ran her hands across the razor, the deodorant, and the special brand of toothpaste. She'd proposed the hare-brained scheme of allowing him to keep his toiletries at her apartment if he cleaned the bathroom, and he'd actually agreed! She snorted; he could be such a vulnerable, handsome playboy when he was emotionally compromised. In fact, it was a bit nauseating. He caught one fateful sight of her and was putty in her hands. She set down the toothpaste, hopped in the shower, rinsed off, and pulled on an old t-shirt of his hanging up on the door. It smelled like peppermint and laundry.

Felicity caught sight of her reflection again; this was nice. She rubbed the shirt's soft fabric between her fingers; this was real. She turned out the light and headed to bed. She shook Oliver awake, and he followed her like some long lost puppy. It was kind of pathetic, he snuggled up against her back, but she didn't mind. She shook out her hair from her bun, and he inhaled and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. She burrowed deep under the covers.

Four years. It had only taken four years.

*->* END *->*


End file.
